by Eva Hudson
“We need to get back to the hospital,” Ingrid said. “I won’t get the chance to speak to Carrie Foster here.”
“Is that really necessary? Don’t you think she’s been through enough already this morning?”
“We still don’t know how she got that bruise on her leg. There’s something she’s not telling us about what Kyle did. Maybe she’s protecting him somehow.” Ingrid turned towards the exit, eager to make her escape before the few dozen journalists rose from their seats.
But she wasn’t fast enough.
“Agent Skyberg!” Angela Tate hollered at her. “I was hoping to bump into you here.” The journalist hurried towards them. “My God, you’re big,” she said to Gurley, uncharacteristically stating the obvious. “So, you’re traveling with your own personal bodyguard now, are you, Ingrid?”
Gurley bristled, clearly offended.
“No?” Tate looked from Gurley to Ingrid.
“I’m working with Major Gurley on this case.”
“Are you military police?” Tate asked.
“Security Forces, US Air Force, ma’am.”
“For God’s sake, don’t ‘ma’am’ me! Please, call me Angela.” She laid a hand on one of Gurley’s forearms.
Was Tate flirting with him? For some reason, the thought appalled Ingrid so much she felt a little nauseous. She started to edge away.
“Would either of you like to give me a quote for the West End Final edition?”
Ingrid arched an eyebrow.
“Oh, please yourself. ‘Sources close to the American embassy’ it’ll have to be then.” With that she marched away. “Until next time, Ingrid,” she shouted over her shoulder as she pushed through the door.
“Trouble, huh?” Gurley said.
“With a capital ‘T’.”
“Nothing you can’t handle.”
Ingrid didn’t know quite how to respond. In the day or so that she’d known him, that had to be the nicest thing he’d said to her.
“Let’s get to the hospital before Tate and the rest of the pack, shall we?” He strode to the door and held it open for her.
Ingrid led them down a side street she’d discovered cab drivers used as a short cut. As soon as they saw a taxi approaching, Gurley stepped into the road, waving and flapping his long arms. He had to have a wing span of close to seven feet. Not someone to be ignored. The cab screeched to a halt and they jumped in.
Just as they settled back into the seat, Ingrid’s cell phone started to ring inside her purse. She yanked it out and peered at the screen and was relieved to discover it wasn’t an international call. She answered and turned away from Gurley. “Jennifer, what do you have for me?”
There was silence at the other end as if the clerk were waiting for a formal greeting.
“Jennifer?”
“Hi.”
“I’m in kind of a hurry here.”
“Sure, sorry. The police have contacted me, they didn’t want to disturb you in the middle of the press conference. But I thought you’d like to know right away.”
“Yes?”
“There’s been another sighting. As a result of Carrie Foster’s appeal.”
“Already?”
“I guess the story has really captured the public’s imagination. I was watching it on the news. She looked so frail. I felt so sorry for—”
“This sighting, the police think it’s genuine?”
“Seems that way. A woman working in a laundromat saw a man with a boy dressed in Spiderman pajamas. They were hovering around the driers for a little while, then the man opened one, grabbed some clothes and ran out.”
“And the man and boy match Kyle and Tommy Foster’s descriptions?”
“I think it was the pajamas that convinced the witness.” She paused.
“I guess that’s good news, isn’t it?” Ingrid said. “Getting warmer clothes for the boy, means his dad is caring for him at least.”
Jennifer swallowed noisily. “I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion, I haven’t told you everything yet.”
“What is it?”
“The witness said she thought the boy might be injured.”
“What?”
“She was pretty sure she saw blood on his face.”
12
Ingrid relayed the details of the call to Gurley. “We should be out there looking for him,” he said. “At least get to the laundromat and speak to the witness.”
“Don’t you see? Speaking to Carrie now is even more important. I want to find out if Tommy was hurt before he left the hotel room or after.”
“What difference does it make?”
“If it’s happened since it might mean Tommy’s in more danger than we thought. It might change how we handle the case.”
“As far as I’m concerned Foster’s capable of anything. It must have happened after—Carrie Foster would have mentioned it otherwise.”
“We speak to her first then work out our next move. Agreed?”
Gurley gave her a begrudging nod and didn’t say another word all the way to the hospital.
When the elevator doors opened on the eleventh floor of UCH, Ingrid and Gurley stepped out into the lobby area to discover DCI Radcliffe speaking to a constable in uniform, a grave expression on his face. They waited until he was done before approaching.
“Chief inspector,” Ingrid smiled as she strode toward him. “I’m a little surprised to see you here,” she said.
“Why wouldn’t I be here?” His tone was unmistakably defensive. He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned toward her.
“I thought you would have handed over the day to day running to a deputy by now.” In Ingrid’s experience most of the investigative work was done by a team of detective constables led by a detective sergeant or inspector.
“Not this case. Too high profile.”
Ingrid glanced behind her as the elevator doors opened again. “The press haven’t arrived here yet?”
“I’m in the process of posting officers at the bottom of all the stairways and on each of the lifts on the ground floor, checking visitors’ credentials. I’m not having those vultures roaming around, upsetting people.”
“Good, you might want to look out for a woman in her fifties with frizzy hair wearing a raincoat and shiny knee-length boots.”
“Tate’s here?”
“You know her?”
“It’s hard to avoid the woman.”
Gurley cleared his throat noisily then made a point of looking at the oversized diver’s watch on his wrist.
“We really need to speak to Mrs Foster again,” Ingrid said.
“She’s in with Molly. I don’t want her disturbed.”
“It wouldn’t take longer than five minutes.”
“I suppose you’ve heard about the sighting in the launderette yesterday?”
Ingrid nodded. “We’d like to speak to Carrie about Tommy’s injury.”
“So would we.”
“You haven’t yet?”
“She’s only just back from the press conference, for God’s sake. She needs time with her daughter.”
“How is Molly?”
“No change. Which the doctors are taking as a good sign, apparently.”
“We can wait to speak to her,” Gurley said, much to Ingrid’s surprise. “If Tommy sustained his injury after he left the hotel, it could mean Kyle Foster poses a greater threat than we thought.”
“You think we haven’t worked that out for ourselves?”
“So why wait to speak to her?” Ingrid asked.
Radcliffe bit his top lip as he considered Ingrid’s question. “I’ll get the FLO to bring Mrs Foster out in ten minutes. I’m not questioning her at Molly’s sick bed.
Fifteen minutes later Radcliffe, Ingrid and Gurley were sitting in a cramped room tucked away at the end of a long corridor, opposite Carrie Foster who now looked so pale her skin appeared almost translucent.
“Thank you for speaking to us again, Mrs Foster,” Radcliffe said.
“I realize reliving your ordeal this morning in front of all those people had to be very hard for you.” He leaned in a little closer to her. “Something new has come to light that I really need to speak to you about.”
The woman searched the detective’s face. “What?”
“Can you recall whether or not Tommy was struggling when Kyle grabbed him yesterday morning?”
Carrie Foster widened her bloodshot eyes. “Why? What’s happened?” She held onto the sleeve of Radcliffe’s jacket. “Have you found him?”
“Please, there’s no need to be alarmed. We haven’t located Tommy, not yet. But we have received some information from someone who believes they saw Tommy and your husband yesterday.”
“Did he seem OK?”
“The eye witness said she saw blood on Tommy’s face.”
“Oh my God!” Mrs Foster raised a hand to her mouth. “How bad is it?”
“It really doesn’t seem to be that serious. Please—I’m sure there’s no need to worry yourself about it.”
“How can you say that?” She jumped to her feet.
Ingrid stood too. “Please, Carrie. What you tell us now could really help us find Tommy faster. We all want that.”
Mrs Foster’s gaze dropped to the floor and she sank back onto her chair. “My poor baby.”
“Can you remember if Tommy was hurt before he left the hotel room?” Ingrid asked her, keeping her voice quiet and gentle.
Foster continued to stare at the floor. She started to shake her head slowly. “I don’t think so. Kyle just scooped him into his arms. Tommy didn’t struggle. Why would he? He loves his daddy. I’m pretty sure he was OK. I would have noticed if he’d had blood on his face, I’m certain.” She fell silent for a moment then stared up at Ingrid, a look of panic on her face. “Does that mean Kyle has hurt him since then? Is that what you’re saying?”
“We don’t know that for sure. Maybe he had an accident.” Even as Ingrid said the words she realized just how unconvincing they must have sounded to the distraught mother sitting in front of her.
Tears were falling down Foster’s face. “What happened? Kyle used to be so kind. I just can’t believe what he did to Molly. He was a good man, you know? No one can change that much, can they?”
Ingrid felt Gurley tense slightly as he sat next to her.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs Foster.” Radcliffe stood up. “It’s been a great help.” He waited for Ingrid and Gurley to get to their feet.
Ingrid hadn’t had a chance to ask Carrie Foster about the bruise on her leg, but it didn’t seem appropriate to bring it up now. She led the way into the corridor, relieved to get out of the airless room.
“After what he did, how can she even think he was a good man?” Gurley said when he’d closed the door behind them.
“It’s complicated for her,” Ingrid said. “She still remembers the man he was. Before the PTSD. I guess she doesn’t want to admit she’s married to some kind of monster.” She started to head back down the corridor toward the elevators.
“You can find your own way out,” Radcliffe said once they’d reached the set of doors leading into the ICU. He disappeared through the doors without waiting for a reply.
“We need to map out Kyle Foster’s movements from the time he left the hotel, to see if we can predict where he’ll head next.” Gurley said.
“I’m sure the police are doing exactly that.”
“You heard Radcliffe just now—he pretty much dismissed us. We’re meant to be providing our expertise. He doesn’t seem that interested in what we might have to offer.”
“You’re right.” Ingrid found herself reluctantly agreeing with Gurley. “We should get back to the embassy and try to convince Sol it’s better for us to break free of the Met’s investigation. We can be more effective working our own line of inquiry.”
“Agreed. Right now I feel like the cops are tolerating us at best.”
Welcome to my world.
As they approached the elevator, the doors opened and two uniformed policeman ran out. Ingrid and Gurley looked at one another for a moment, then hurried after the two men. They hung a left, toward the ICU.
The door leading into Molly Foster’s room was wide open. There was no sign of the cop who should have been on duty outside.
The two cops ran into the room, with Ingrid and Gurley right behind them. A third cop was inside, anxiously watching the nurse Ingrid had seen the day before check the various machines Molly was hooked up to.
“Is she OK?” the cop asked.
“She’s fine. Absolutely fine.” The nurse had a worried look on her face.
“I thought he was a doctor. He was dressed in scrubs. He had a stethoscope around his neck.”
“What happened?” Ingrid said.
All three cops now turned toward Ingrid and Gurley. “Who the hell are you?” one of them demanded.
Ingrid quickly retrieved her badge. “FBI, American embassy. We’ve just been interviewing Mrs Foster.” She strode toward the bed. “What happened?” she asked the cop again, this time more firmly. She glanced quickly back at the door, wondering where the hell Radcliffe was.
“A man walked right up to the door. He had a hospital ID badge clipped to his pocket. I suppose I should have checked it more closely. I came into the room with him—it’s protocol when the nurse isn’t around. I was standing next to him the whole time.” He lifted a hand to his face. He was trembling. “Have the exits been secured?” he asked the other cops.
One of them nodded. “We’ve got people at the front and rear. He won’t get out of here.”
Ingrid stared into the nervous cop’s face. “What made you think he wasn’t a doctor?”
“There was something about him. Most of the consultants I’ve seen in here are… you know, cocky. He seemed more unsure of himself. He grabbed the charts attached to the end of the bed, but it didn’t look like he was actually reading them. He was too busy looking up at Molly, then at me.”
“Who do you think he was?”
“I can’t say. For a second I thought it might be her dad. But he didn’t look like the photographs I’ve seen of him.”
“Wait a minute,” Gurley said. “Are you saying Kyle Foster was right here, in Molly’s room?”
“I couldn’t say. The man was dressed as a doctor.”
“How long ago?”
“Five minutes.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing—he couldn’t, could he? Not with me standing right next to him. Like I say, he just looked at her, then glanced at me. Then the nurse came in and he ran for it. It was only then that the penny finally dropped and I realized he wasn’t one of the team.”
“Why would Foster risk coming here?” Ingrid asked Gurley.
“To finish what he started.” Gurley moved toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“If they’ve got cops at the exits, I want to be there when they pick the son of a bitch up.”
Ingrid ran after him. “You seriously believe Kyle Foster has so completely lost it he’d come into the hospital to try to murder his daughter?”
He paused at the door. “If he has lost it, one thing’s certain.”
Ingrid tensed, knowing what Gurley was likely to say next.
“We can assume Tommy is already dead.”
13
“Wait up a second,” Ingrid told Gurley.
Jack Gurley was already halfway through the door. He stopped. The two uniformed cops they’d followed into the room pushed past him and hurried away.
“You know for sure this guy wasn’t part of the medical team?” Ingrid directed her question toward the concerned nurse, who was stroking Molly Foster’s forehead.
“No one I’ve seen before in ICU.”
“But we don’t know for sure it was Kyle Foster. Did you get a good look at his face?”
“Not that good. If it was him, he didn’t look like his photo, that’s for sure.”
“We’ve
just come from the press conference,” Ingrid said. “The place was full of unscrupulous reporters looking for a scoop. Any one of them might stoop so low they wouldn’t think twice about impersonating a doctor.” Ingrid thought it was amazing Angela Tate hadn’t already tried something along the same lines. “Describe the man to me.”
“About five foot nine or ten, slim build, mid to late thirties,” the cop said.
“Did he say anything to you?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You’re sure?”
“Erm…” The cop paused, his face had taken on a sudden panicked expression.
A moment later Ingrid discovered why.
DCI Radcliffe was standing in the doorway. “For God’s sake, Barlow—he was right here and you let him get away?” Radcliffe didn’t bother to even acknowledge Ingrid and Gurley’s presence. “Well?”
“That’s what we’re currently trying to establish,” Ingrid said, getting a little frustrated she couldn’t get a straight answer from the cop.
“And what the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Can you please keep your voice down or leave the room?” the nurse said.
“Barlow, come with me.”
The hapless cop followed Radcliffe outside. As did Ingrid and Gurley.
“Did the man speak to you?” Ingrid said again.
“He might have said ‘good morning’.”
“So did he have an accent?”
“Not really.”
“So he sounded English?”
“Yes, I suppose he did.” He glanced at his superior officer. “The more I think about it… I’d say it was definitely an English accent.”
“Just now you weren’t even sure whether he’d spoken to you or not, for Christ’s sake,” Radcliffe said, not bothering to disguise his contempt.
“I’ve had a moment to think. It was an English accent, sir.”
“So it might not have been Foster?” Ingrid asked.
Gurley pulled a folded sheet from the back pocket of his pants. He smoothed out the paper and showed the cop a full color, full length photograph of Kyle Foster dressed in camouflage pants and a light gray tee shirt. The cop turned his head this way and that as he stared at the picture.